


Let Me See You

by LittleBlueArtist



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: :), M/M, i love that pain, look at dis kenhina tho, sorry for that major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:36:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7380205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleBlueArtist/pseuds/LittleBlueArtist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"On Marcus Street, right in between a bookstore run by a nice old lady and a toy shop for children, is a flower shop. It is called <i>La Petite Fleur</i>. It has anything from roses to daffodils, from daisies to tulips. Inside is quaint, neat, tidied up hourly by the owner, a suave type of guy who gets along with anyone. He’s tall, has spiky black hair that can never be brushed down, and has something alluring about him that no one can really resist. But it’s not him that Hinata Shouyou keeps coming back to. He’s never seen the man, after all. Well, he doesn’t see much of anything these days. There’s some downsides to being blind."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me See You

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY FUCKIGN BIRTHDAY MEI ILYSM!!!! EVERYONE SAY HBD TO MEI @ [MAGETXT](http://magetxt.tumblr.com) ON TUMBLR!!!!!!!!!!!!

On Marcus Street, right in between a bookstore run by a nice old lady and a toy shop for children, is a flower shop. It is called  _ La Petite Fleur.  _ It has anything from roses to daffodils, from daisies to tulips. Inside is quaint, neat, tidied up hourly by the owner, a suave type of guy who gets along with anyone. He’s tall, has spiky black hair that can never be brushed down, and has something alluring about him that no one can really resist. But it’s not him that Hinata Shouyou keeps coming back to. He’s never seen the man, after all. Well, he doesn’t see much of anything these days. There’s some downsides to being blind.

Hinata keeps going to the shop because of the smell. The way he can picture what the flowers loo like in his own warped way. The owner, Kuroo Tetsurou, has a laugh that twinkles like wind chimes. Hinata tries to remember the way a smile might look, a nice upturn of lips. He’s felt Kuroo’s lips before. The owner had let Hinata’s hands map out his face. He goes to the shop once a week, they know each other by name. Not friends. Acquaintances maybe. But he knows Kuroo enough to know that the voice in the shop today does not belong to him.

“Hello. Welcome to  _ La Petite Fleur _ . Can I help you?” The voice that says it is almost monotonous, bored, but Hinata can hear something under it. He doesn’t know what, but he knows it’s there. He pictures someone a little younger than Kuroo, maybe a little taller. It sounds like it belongs to a teenager whose mother is forcing them to help out. 

“Where’s Kuroo?” Hinata asks, hand on his stick. He doesn’t like to use it in the shop. He knows his way around well enough, but if there’s someone else there, he might’ve switched everything. The thought makes Hinata anxious. He doesn’t like change.

“His mother fell ill. I’m in charge until he comes back. My name is Kozume Kenma.” The voice gets closer as it speaks, and Hinata guesses that Kenma is holding out his hand. Hinata searches for it, guesses where it is. His own hand brushes over it before he gives a nice shake. He lets a beaming smile come over his face. Kenma’s hands are soft but rough. They’ve done work but not something like construction. A sport maybe?

“My name is Hinata Shouyou!” he says brightly. His first instinct is to ask to map out Kenma’s face, to recognize him by every bump and dent. He doesn’t do it often, only to places he frequents like the little market down the street and his job. He works as a counselor in a high school with his friend Nishinoya. They’re both enthusiastic about their work, but without the calm voice of reason named Asahi, Hinata’s sure they would preobably do more harm than good. 

“Kuroo mentioned you. He says you come every week for a batch of white roses?”

Hinata smiles again, this time it’s not as excited. It stretches his lips thin, bad memories rising up. Memories of the accident, of the way the pain burned through every cell of his body. “Every week. Just three roses, please,” he says walking over to where he knows the counter is. He’s mapped out every part of this shop, and even though he’s No Light Perception blind, he can see the shop within his mind. He doesn’t understand when someone says that a countertop is  _ gray  _ or when someone’s eyes are  _ blue _ . He knows that these are colors, that they should mean something, but they just don’t. He used to remember colors, before the accident. He remembers seeing the ocean, the sky, the grass. He remembers, but he doesn’t. What they actually look like are gone to him, he can’t remember what’s orange and what’s green. The words mean little to him. He mostly remembers the last person he saw, but even that’s become fuzzy, too. It’s been almost eight years, after all.

Kenma rings him up, and Hinata notices a small clear in his throat. He hopes the other boy isn’t sick, he’s been sensitive to illness since his accident. With a smile he takes the flowers, gets his stick, and walks down the block. He usually doesn’t need it, the streets are desolate enough most days that there aren’t many cars or people walking. He can mostly hear what’s happening. But this time of year the tourists roll in to see the beautiful spring gardens, the blooming flowers and colorful displays. There’s too many people and too many cars for him to walk comfortably, so he uses the god awful stick.

He hates it. He hates how people have to move out of the way, how he hears small gasps and parents telling their children to move. He hates the way it makes him feel vulnerable. Before the accident he was loud and all over the place, jumping high above what people had expected from someone so small. Still, even with all the extra people lining the streets and all the extra noises, Hinata makes it to the graveyard within a few minutes. No one is ever here, in this small-town batch of graves. There’s only a few hundred tombstones. More people are buried elsewhere.

Hinata puts away his stick, knowing the entire place by footsteps. He goes there once a week, every Wednesday, like clockwork. He always gets three white roses, always lays them in a triangle on the grave. It’s been almost eight years, he’s got the routine down pat. There’s never been a week he’s missed this ritual, rain or shine, cold or heat. There’ve been days where he was terribly sick and he still went. He couldn’t not go. Not after eight years. Not after the accident had been his fault.

***

_ They were fifteen, too young to be driving. They shouldn’t have been on the road at all, let alone in the dark. Sugawara should’ve been driving, but he was too busy being drunk with Daichi in the back seat. Kageyama and Hinata had been in the front, with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi stuffed in the back, making sure Daichi and Suga didn’t do anything reckless. Kageyama drove, insisting that his father had taught him years ago. They were so busy making their usual banter of Hinata demanding Kageyama’s attention, Tsukki and Yamaguchi fussing over their elders, Daichi and Suga falling over each other in the back seat, that none of them saw the truck barreling through the red light.  _

_ They didn’t have time to turn, or even try to get away, before it crashed into them. It was a deadly flurry of smashed glass and crunching bones before the car rolled to a stop, teetering on its side before falling upside down. When Hinata looks over, he sees nothing. There’s no sight greeting him. He briefly wonders why, before the pain starts. It shoots over him, white hot like the sun is bearing down on him from two feet away. He feels like his blood is boiling in his veins, and Hinata Shouyou screams. _

_ Vaguely, he can hear some moans behind him. They’re too broken for him to know where they’re coming from. His screams still tumble down his throat through the air. He remembers sirens before blacking out. _

***

Hinata pulls himself out of his thoughts. His whole life had changed that day. He had lost his eyesight, and four of his best friends. Tsukishima had been the only one to survive besides him, but he rarely called anymore. Maybe once a year. He had moved on with his life, married someone new, adopted a few children. He had come out with a few broken bones, a couple of scars. In the tumble, Suga had protected him, taking most of the damage himself. He died of liver failure just a few days later in the hospital. He felt guilty for a long time, like Suga’s death had been his fault somehow, but eventually Tsukki moved on. He found his peace. Hinata didn’t think he had any peace left to find.

He found the driver who hit them easily. He never got to lay eyes on him, to see the man who killed his friends. In court, though, he heard his voice. There was almost no remorse, no tears, in his answers. Hinata didn’t know if he was trying not to cry or if he sincerely didn’t regret drinking seven beers and then ramming into a bunch of people with a semi. 

He feels the grass where upturned dirt once was and thinks about the accident. He did an exercise with a therapist once, cognitive remembering. He felt past the pain, to what every other sense was doing. He remembers hearing groans. More than one person had initially survived. Daichi. He remembers Daichi rolling, reaching for help. He bled out on the way to the hospital. Yamaguchi died seconds after they stopped rolling. Kageyama was the only one to die on impact. He felt nothing, the doctors said. 

Hinata hasn’t been in a car since. No cars, barely even trains, in eight years. He thinks himself pathetic, sometimes. He’s a twenty-three year old man with a fear of cars. He doesn’t stay for long, only long enough to remember. He can’t seem to forget. He’s asked Tsukishima, how he moved on, how he can sleep at night. The taller boy had only said to deal with it, and hung up. 

Now, Hinata pushes back into his apartment, shoves a meal into the microwave, and turns on the TV. He doesn’t usually watch anymore, but he likes the noise. It’s always so quiet in his apartment with no one there to bug him. Nishinoya and him switch off days sometimes, so whenever he’s free his friends aren’t. It’s not long before he settles, though, with some food and a show about a ragtag group of friends. He spends his night peacefully, just him and the TV. 

***

Next Wednesday, Hinata can immediately tell it’s not Kuroo again. The footsteps are wrong, too light. Kuroo’s are heavy, sure of where they’re going. “Hello, Kenma!” he says brightly, the bell still jingling from when he walked through the door. There’s a couple other people in the store, three if he’s right. One is an old lady, coughing. The other two, a couple, two girls. One is whispering something to the other, and Hinata can hear her laugh. He walks up to Kenma and smiles. Kuroo has a batch of flowers always waiting for him, he doesn’t even have to ask anymore. 

Kenma shifts before talking. “Hinata. You come every Wednesday, right?”

“Yup! Call me Shouyou, Hinata is so formal. Hey, Kenma, are you taller or shorter than Kuroo?”

Kenma is taken off guard at the question. He doesn’t expect it, and remembers that Hinata is blind. He moves so swiftly around the store that Kenma forgets. “I’m shorter. Kuroo and I have been friends for a long time, but I just recently moved here.”

“Oh, that’s cool! Well, if you haven’t been here long then I can show you around!”

Kenma thought that to be somewhat of a joke. “Show me around?”

A blush appeared on Hinata’s face. He stifled a nervous laugh before paying and continuing. “I’ve lived here my whole life! I know every inch of this place, even if I can’t see it.”

“Well, Shouyou, I’m free on Saturday if you want.”

Hinata takes his flowers and perks up. Kenma thinks he looks like a hopeful puppy. He’s cute. Hinata doesn’t wear sunglasses, not like most blind people he’s seen do, and Kenma can see his eyes. They’re a milky brown, like there’s a film covering them. They don’t focus on anything, like he’s staring into space. Kenma finds them a little unsettling, but he doesn’t say anything. He has crazy orange hair that sticks out in tufts, and is a literal ball of energy. Even now, when he’s standing still, he’s fiddling with a ring on his hands. 

Kenma himself is the exact opposite. He’s dyed his hair again so the roots are blond, cut it somewhat, but he’s calm, quiet. He’s introverted, doesn’t like many things out of his own bubble. Kenma would be content with staying inside all day with his games, even though his family says he should’ve gotten over that phase years ago. He really should’ve, but crippling anxiety and fear of the unknown has stopped him. He doesn’t want to leave his bubble, the world he is comfortable in.

Hinata smiles at him. It’s such a cute smile, one as pure as the sun. “Of course!” Hinata beams at him, white teeth practically sparkling as he answers. He takes his flowers and walks out, almost skipping. The rest of the day is quite dull compared to that little interaction. Kenma makes as little small talk as possible, even when this old lady named Beth wanted to talk about her grandson’s wedding to the most beautiful, talented girl in the world. He hated small talk. Kuroo promised he wouldn’t be more than two weeks, and Kenma had told him not to worry, that his family comes first. 

Now, he sorta regrets it. Running the store is not only physically but mentally draining. He drags himself up the stairs every night and barely gets a chance to play his games before he’s passing out on the spare mattress. He hates being this exhausted. He never really realized how hard Kuroo works. Back at home, Kenma does odd jobs. Not the mow-the-lawn-house-watch kind, but the help-develop-games kind. He checks over code, beta tests games, helps develop code for certain parts. He’s basically the troubleshoot guy. Kenma doesn’t mind it. He likes the low profile of his job, enjoys not having to leave his home for more than a couple hours at a time. 

Now that he’s forced to, he’s realizing he hates it. Being out of his safe zone, no matter what anyone says, is not a learning experience. It’s terrible and he hates it. But, maybe it’s not too horrible. He did meet Hinata Shouyou after all. 

Saturday dawns before Kenma is ready, and he takes longer than usual to get dressed. After brushing back his hair he remembers that Hinata is blind, and that his appearance doesn’t matter. He still wants to look nice, anyway. Why? Is this a date? 

Hinata shows up at the shop right on time, stick in hand, sunglasses over his eyes. It surprises Kenma. He’s used to Hinata’s brown eyes, the way they seem to stare at nothing and everything at the same time. Hinata beams when Kenma closes the door, the brightness of his smile rivaling the sun’s. It’s a nice day out, a good one for a walk. The last breeze of winter is filtering through the town and the skies have no clouds in them. These are the days before intense humidity and heat, before the air conditioning costs as much as his rent. 

“Sunglasses? That’s new,” Kenma says, locking the door. 

“Everyone tends to stare when I don’t use them. I can feel it. You seem like the kind of person who doesn’t like that.” He starts to walk, stick swinging side to side. Kenma can tell he doesn’t quite need it. There’s a sureness to his steps that even Kenma doesn’t have. They walk past a line of stores and Hinata turns a corner, going down a more unknown block into a small store called  _ Treasure Map _ . It’s filled to the brim with odd items, knick knacks, and jars full of mysterious liquids. It’s the kind of store where you never know what you’ll find, and you never walk in with a specific thing in mind. 

Hinata feels over the shelves, stopping when his hands roam over putty or something soft. “I used to come here all the time. It was my favorite store. The owner, Yuki, is a really nice old man! When I was a kid he would sneak some stuff into my bag.” There’s a soft tone in his voice, one of remembrance and sadness. 

“It’s a messy shop. Messy, but organized.” Kenma doesn’t know if he likes it or not. He likes the way Hinata remembers it by feel alone. He likes the way Hinata seems at home in the store, like it’s become a part of him. They walk around a bit, Kenma looking anxiously at the weird contents. He finds an old book about tea leaves and picks it up, deciding to buy it. He doesn’t exactly want it, but it intrigues him. The writing is sloppy, like they’re quick notes from someone doing an experiment. 

There are tea leaves pressed to the pages, delicate drawings sprawled randomly around the book. An old man, Yuki, meets them at the counter. He smiles at Hinata and taps the shorter boy’s hand, getting his attention. “Glad to see you found everything okay,” he says while ringing up the book. It’s not expensive. 

“I know this place like the back of my hand,” Hinata says back, a big grin on his face. Yuki puts Kenma’s book in a bag for him, and the two leave the store with muttered goodbyes. Hinata puts on his shades and pulls out his stick again. They make their way across town, to a beach with rocks lining it. They’re big enough to sit on, and Hinata, somehow, knows exactly which one is best. 

The ocean looks beautiful in the lowering sun. “I had a nice time today, Shouyou,” Kenma says, pulling his knees to his chest. It’s starting to get chilly, and he’s never been one to tolerate the cold. Even with a sweater on and the spring heat, it’s too cold for his taste. 

“Me too. Maybe we can do this again sometime?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Kenma looks onto the horizon, where the bursting sun meets the cool ocean. The mesmerizing blue becomes full of spark and life for just a few minutes, reflecting the colors of the ever warm sun. It stops being so solitary and unknown for just a moment. Kenma wonders if Shouyou will be his sunset.

***

The next night, it rains. 

Hinata screams at the pain. His eyes throb, pain bursting through his head. It’s bad this time. Rain always makes it worse. The pain of that night comes back, spreads through him head to toe. The first couple of times he called Tsukki, screaming and crying about how he was dying. The other boy calmed him down enough to explain some scientific stuff that Hinata doesn’t really know still, but the words helped him.

He doesn’t know what to do this time, with memories running through his head. He calls Tsukishima Kei. The phone rings four times before he picks up. His voice is tired and groggy. “Hello?” Hinata can hear murmurings, knows it’s Ichiro, Tsukki’s husband. 

“Tsukki, it’s me.” His voice warbles and he clenches his fist, holding in a scream of agony. It hurts more than it has in a long time.

“It’s raining there.” He knows like he knows the color of his hair. “Hinata, calm down. Take some medicine, the one I told you to get.” Over the years, and especially after the accident, Tsukishima calmed. His rude, asshole demeanor is still there, always will be, but it’s gotten past the stage of teenage horribleness. 

“It  _ hurts _ Tsukki.” He’s talking about more than the pain. Every bone in him aches, every pump of his heart is a stab. His fingers long to remember the feel of Kageyama’s hair, the sound of Yamaguchi’s nervous laugh. He wants to pretend he can still smell the sweat of the court, see Daichi and Suga laughing it out as always. He wants to scream until the skies hear him and give them all back.

“Hinata, be smart. It’s four in the morning. Take some medicine and go to bed.”

“Y-you’re right.”

“Hinata, I’ll be in town next Saturday. It’s-- It’s the eight year anniversary. I don’t know if you’ve seen the news lately, but the man who did it, he… He’s been sentenced to execution. It’s happening a month from now.”

Hinata’s whole body freezes. His blood stops in his veins, breaths nonexistent. The one man who took everything from him… He’s going to die. He’s going to feel the pain Shouyou felt. He’s going to get everything he deserves and more. He should have to die four million times. “Call me when you get to town, Kei. There’s a flower shop that would be good for the ceremony.” He doesn’t respond to the death row news. He’s angry, angrier than he’s been in a long time.

This man, the man who blinded him. The man who took his life away. The man who made him quit his favorite activity. The man who took away his first love. He is going to die. He is going to die and Hinata is still on Earth. For now, this tethers him. He has both feet on the ground, every limb in place, every piece of him is still there. He is  _ here _ . For now, this is enough.

***

When Shouyou walks into the store next Wednesday, Kuroo is back. He can hear the other man’s booming laugh when he steps in. The bell jingles twice before settling. “Shouyou!” he calls. “I hope Kenma was good to you!” There’s amusement in his voice. 

“He was nice,” Hinata says. He misses Kenma’s soothing voice, his softer footsteps. With Kuroo the store is lively and home-like. It feels normal again. With Kenma, though, it felt calm, like he could walk in and stay for hours. It felt...peaceful, like the flowers were watching them. He felt like he could be engulfed in them and live there forever.

“Normal pickup?”

“Yes, please.” He pays and then walks to the graveyard. Tobio’s stone is clean from the rainy nights before. It shines like new marble. His parents moved away a long time ago, the grief from losing their only son driving them to isolation. Hinata hasn’t heard from them since the funeral. He hasn’t cared to find them again. 

There’s someone else in the graveyard. In one this small, there usually aren’t many people visiting, especially on a Wednesday afternoon. There’s scuffling and murmuring. It’s a murmur Hinata knows. “Kenma?” he calls, brushing off his knees. His cane is tucked neatly into his pocket, folded into a small pole, sunglasses in the other. He’s been through this graveyard a thousand times, has a mental map in the way he pictures things. He knows every groove in the fence and every branch on the tree. But, god, something about Kenma leaves his mind blank. It’s like he’s learning how to move all over again. 

“Shouyou! I figured you might be here. I don’t mean to interrupt, sorry.” 

Hinata waves his hand, trying to stare in the direction Kenma’s talking is coming from. Seeing people get uncomfortable when he’s not wearing glasses, because they’re used to eye contact, something he can’t provide. He can’t focus on anything, which makes his eyes look like they’re always staring into space. Human behavior says that means he’s not paying attention, even though he’s listening so closely that he can hear their breathing patterns. 

After becoming a school counselor, Hinata realized he wouldn’t be able to take visual behavior cues, so he read up. Audio Books, braille, anything on human dialect and speech patterns he could get his hands on. He’s still learning, still has a long way to go, but he can hear the nervousness in Kenma’s voice as the man comes closer. 

“Don’t worry, Kenma! I was done, anyway.” He thinks about that word.  _ Done _ . He’ll never really be done with the accident, will he? No, probably not.

Kenma steps twice more before stopping. “I…” There’s a tremble in his voice. He’s hesitating. “I really liked our date, Shouyou. Would you want to go on another one?”

Hinata’s heart stops in his chest. “Of course! When, when?!”

“Is Saturday night okay?” There’s a shy excitement to Kenma’s voice, a tone that the shorter man loves. Someone is actually excited over  _ him  _ saying yes. 

“Of course! Meet at the flower shop at seven?” 

Kenma’s response is quiet, almost too quiet for his ears to pick up. “A-actually, maybe I could pick you up? There’s a place a town over that’s--”

Hinata doesn’t hear the rest of his words. He feels as if he’s falling and grabs for his cane, but it does nothing. The ground is swirling and he is reaching out for anything to stop him from falling. 

He is crashing.

***

Kenma watches as Hinata stops listening. He knows this feeling. The feeling of losing sense of space of time, feeling like you’re going to die, like time has run out. He more than well knows the feeling of a panic attack. He needs something to bring him back, to ground him, just like Kenma did when these first started.

“Shouyou! Shouyou, listen to me. Breathe in. Come on you can do it. In and out. Follow my directions.” He takes deep, loud breaths to try and get the smaller man’s attention. Slowly and gradually, it works, and Hinata comes back to himself. Kenma hauls him up from the ground, rubbing soothing circles on his back and guiding him to the entrance. Hinata’s feet move automatically, muscle memory doing the work for him. He walks out of the cemetery and towards the familiar path of home. He can’t think, can’t focus, can only keep walking. He can hear Kenma trailing behind.

“Kenma, can we go to the rocks? I like hearing the ocean.” His voice shakes as he talks, and he’s ashamed of his attack, over something he can’t control. He starts to walk towards the ocean, already smelling the salt. 

“Sure, Shouyou. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got run over by a truck.” He says the words without thinking about them, it’s just an expression, but being run over by a truck is  _ so, so  _ much worse. All of the air leaves his lungs and it takes him a few seconds to remember how to breathe.

They walk in silence until they get to the rocks. Kenma helps Hinata navigate them, and they settle on a flat one that’s slightly tilted. Both of them just sit and listen to the waves, the calming sounds of water lapping over sand. There’s a couple people having a loud conversation below them on the beach. They’re laughing about something, and Hinata can smell the beginnings of a bonfire. It’s just warm enough to start one, but still cold enough to justify a fire for heat.

“So, no car then,” Kenma says, his voice soft. He doesn’t talk too loudly in the first place, but now he makes sure his voice is extra soft.

Shouyou laughs bitterly, drawing his knees to his chest. “No car. I haven’t been in one in almost eight years.”

“Trying to help the environment?” Kozume knows that’s not the reason. He wants to lighten the mood, put a smile back on the sun’s face.

“Not quite.”

“Shouyou, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He would never expect the shorter man to confess everything about his life. They’ve only known each other for a few weeks, hardly enough time to even know sibling’s names. He wants to know. His stomach is turning in knots over what could have been bad enough to cause that reaction at even the mention of riding in a car. He wants to know who hurt the person he’s starting to like. 

“Were you in Japan eight years ago?” The names of him and his friends had appeared all over the country. A mass murderer with a death sentence, something that doesn’t happen often. His face was displayed in newspapers, put on TVs. Everywhere he went he could hear people’s soft gasps and sympathetic sighs. It took awhile for everything to calm down, for people to stop acting like they knew him and could talk to him. They don’t recognize him now, moved on to the next topic. 

Kenma thinks back to all those years ago. He vaguely remembers a country-wide craze, but he can’t pull the memory up. “Yeah,” he says, looking at the horizon. “I was in high school.”

“Eight years ago, I was in a car crash. Me and five other people squished into a tiny car. We should never have tried to fit. My… Kageyama only had his permit, and we were arguing. The truck ran a red light. Me and one other person survived. I lost my eyesight in the crash and injured my arm, but that healed over time. I haven’t been in a car since.”

Kenma is silent, breathless, speechless. He doesn’t know how to respond or come back from that story. He remembers now, the story that took Japan by storm. He doesn’t remember the names, even the high school, just the moments of silence they had. He remembers his mother crying, like her son had died instead of someone else’s. He thinks he remembers a school, but he can’t bring the name up. 

“I want to go in a car with you, Kenma,” Hinata says, drawing his knees to his chest, eyes staring at the ocean, unfocused. “You’re not nervous about my eyes. You don’t try to treat me differently. You… You don’t see me as the tragedy kid. I want to be able to go in a car or train with you. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Kenma breaths. Huffs, really. This tiny man, a ball of sunshine, thinks he is a burden. “Shouyou, I don’t care about that. We can stay here. You can show me the local restaurants and pretty spots and every inch of this town, just as long as I get to stay with you.”

When Hinata looks over, there’s tears in his eyes. They gather at the lid and drip down his face, splashing into the rocks and his hand. Before Kenma can register it, he brings the other man to his chest, one hand in the orange tufts and the other rubbing his back. He’s whispering comfort and sweet nothings. Shouyou lets himself cry. He bawls into Kenma’s shirt, allows the hands to soothe him, to mess his hair and rub his back. He wants to lay like this forever, but the tears stop and he wipes them away.

He looks towards where Kenma’s face should be and tries to figure out what his features would look like. He can’t. He remembers lips and eyes and noses, cheekbones and hairlines, can even imagine what they look like, but they’re warped. They don’t look like they should, like he vaguely remembers. They look like drawings kids made. He spares Kenma from that kind of imagery, and instead, lets the other man’s words float around his brain.

He thinks maybe here, maybe with time, he can get in a car again, let his feet off the floor again.

Maybe with Kenma, he can fly again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed bae!! ILY!!!! I can't believe we're so old. Come knit some sweaters with me grandma. (like always i'll go back and fix any mistakes + comments/kudos are appreciated!) Update: Did you like this fic? Want more of your own? Well I have good news! I've opened commissions! Find the info post [here!](http://noyaplease.tumblr.com/post/149722884338/writing-commissions)


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